


Promissory Estoppel

by Tsume_Yuki



Series: Female Harry x Marvel Soulmark Stories [8]
Category: Daredevil (TV), Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Female Harry Potter, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, Tentatively Complete
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-13
Updated: 2015-12-13
Packaged: 2018-05-06 14:03:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 735
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5419778
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tsume_Yuki/pseuds/Tsume_Yuki
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>'<i>I'm not, I just owe him a favour,</i>' Matt doesn't understand his words at all.<br/>'<i>Why are you in league with the Russian Mafia?</i>' As if her words weren't confusing enough, Harry's soul mark appears in Braille.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Promissory Estoppel

 

 

 

The bombs are still ringing loud in Matt's ears.

The noise has shaken his bones, shattered his confidence, and his body still aches from the blast he'd almost been caught in. Oh, and the wounds from that fight with those two guys, yeah, they weren't helping either.

The overwhelm scent of burnt flesh refuses to disappear, lingering within their rundown room as Vladimir lays taunt, his short, sharp breaths filling the room.

Uneven, jolted, he wasn't breathing right.

Matt starts forwards, prepared to preform CPR so that the only damn lead he's found here won't disappear, when suddenly, there's a crisp, sharp crack.

The air displaces, and out of nowhere, there's a woman stood in the room.

It's not computing, not clicking inside his head.

Not a second ago, there were two bodies in the room, and now there's three.

The woman pushes him bodily to the side, throwing her weight behind it.

Were it not for the wounds, were it not for his shock, Matt knows she's never have manage from move him.

As it is, he rolls to a side, just as the woman starts doing, something.

The mass of blood disappears.

Vladimir's ribs creak and set themselves.

The broken arm isn't broken anymore.

His heartbeat is strong, and his eyes snap open.

He stares up at this woman, this woman that has appeared from nowhere, and then he gives a rough, wet laugh.

He says something in Russian, and Matt creeps forwards, the foreign words covering the scuffle of his shoes.

Finally though, Vladimir seems to figure out that the woman has no idea what he's saying, for he gives another laugh and gently taps at her cheeks.

"We are even now, krasavitsa."

The woman huffs, annoyance in that one breath, and Matt finally drums up the courage to speak to this outlier.

"Why are you in league with the Russian Mafia?"

Her heartbeat skyrockets, and he, for a foolish second, believes it's because she feels guilty. Because she knows she's been caught.

But then she speaks, and he's left flat footed.

"I'm not, I just owe him a favour."

 

 

 

She insists on teleporting -teleporting!- Vladimir somewhere safe, a life debt, she'd explained.

And once that was done, she's teleported him out to his home too, arriving after she'd finished prompting him to think only of his living room.

Vladimir had given him the details when he realised what was going on between the two of them, but he's not explained whatever Russia he'd gabbed at the afterwards.

And now here they were, he and the woman who'd spoken his words, the words that coiled around his forearm, the words he hadn't been able to read since he lost his sight.

"They're on my wrist," the woman start quietly, offering up the limb with only the slightest bit of hesitation.

Matt doesn't have the slightest clue what he's doing, but a sharp breath escapes him as his fingers dance across her skin.

Because it's Braille.

"What?"

"I don't know, they've always been like this. For years they were just raised, coloured bumps to me."

Matt hums, tracing his words, the words that are implanted upon her skin in what had become his language. He knew that there were a lucky few blind people that got soulmate a with marks in Braille, but he hadn't dared to hope-

"I'm Harry, and I certainly don't work with the Russian Mafia."

Her heartbeat is steady, her pulse strong beneath his fingertips. And Matt smiles even more when she peels back his blood matted glove to kiss at the clean skin beneath.

"I'll go shower," he finds himself saying, trying not to run his hand through his hair, or make any other kind of nervous gesture, "and then we can talk?"

"Of course, er..."

"Matt."

 

 

By the time he surfaces from the shower, he's clean, and the scent of Vladimir's blood is as gone as he can get it.

The woman, Harry, his soulmate, has cleaned herself up too. With the same stick that'd healed Vladimir's bones within seconds.

And mmm, was he interested in that.

"So..." She starts, English accent cooling through the air and Matt feels a grin spreading across his lips.

Despite what an awful night it's been, he'd found his soulmate. His soulmate who spoke with such wonderful voice and who's scent brought the ideal home and heath to mind.

"So indeed."

**Author's Note:**

> There might be another chapter to this, I'm not sure yet. Hence the 'tentatively complete'


End file.
